


Leaving the Past

by Sarcastic_Raspberry



Category: overwatch
Genre: Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Raspberry/pseuds/Sarcastic_Raspberry
Summary: 76 would never think to reach out to him. It wasn't his past to relive, and it wasn't his right to try.That doesn't stop him from being pulled in.





	Leaving the Past

The sun had begun fading. It would soon be time for 76 to move back out onto the streets for another night of hunting. He didn’t prefer the word, but still hadn’t found one that proved more accurate.

Right now, he didn’t have to worry about that. Instead, he watched the figure moving about the yard in front of him through the red-tinted visor.

What was once muscle that clung to the figure’s upper body had begun to move down into something of a potbelly. His long legs had long crunched slightly to bring him down from his great height, along with the slight crook of his spine where it met a silvery white hairline that was once twice as thick.

Every night, this man would come out and tend to a patch of small orange flowers, growing in bunches of stalks three feet high by the garden wall. He didn’t bend down a lot of nights, but he always made sure to brush his hands over a few of the blossoms before retiring to the porch.

“I know you’re out there.”

The voice caught him off guard.

It wasn’t yelled, nor was it a question. It was just a pure statement.

As if to verify that the man knew what he was talking about, he turned away from the flowers to face the direction of the undergrowth, and subsequently the fence that 76 had shielded himself behind.

“Come on out. I won’t bite.”

The man’s voice was worn with age, but it still came as a too-gentle hum just under his words.

76 remained where he was, hoping the man would call it his mistake and leave.

There was only a roll of eyes as his answer as the man stood as straight as he could. He said, “Well, if you’re gonna be shy about it, I guess I could just head back inside. It would be a shame to never get to meet my stalker, but I suppose that’s just the way of life.”

He began turning slowly, to which 76 stiffened. For some reason, he couldn’t stand the idea of passing up this opportunity. Just as he saw the man begin to climb the stairs to his porch, he stood quickly to his full height, if only to peak over the fence.

The rustle caused by his movements called his attention, it seemed, as he turned to see 76 standing there, visor sticking out in the darkening suburban backdrop.

“Soldier 76,” he said in a slow, low voice. The way he said it wasn’t necessarily surprised, though he did seem a bit in awe. “Might I ask what you’re doing in my backyard?”

He didn’t answer, looking down and to the side.

The man nodded and gave a small laugh.

“A man of few words? No worries then. Come inside when you’re ready to sit with me. I could use the company, you know.”

With that, the man disappeared, leaving 76 standing dumbfounded on the other side of the fence. He should really have just left. If he’d left, he might have still been able to look into that tip regarding a certain blue sniper that had been poking around a local Vishkar office.

It would have been a more useful way to spend his time.

Instead, he placed a hand on top of the fence and scaled over to follow the man into his house. After opening the sliding door, he peaked around to the left to see familiar yellow walls, ending in dark brown trim where they met the ceiling and floor.

“So you came inside after all,” a voice came behind.

He turned to follow the voice, finding the same man leaning smugly against the counter.

Closing the sliding door, 76 gave a small nod and crossed to the island that divided the kitchen and the small dining area behind him.

“I hope you aren’t here to kill me,” he said in a low voice. “Tch, it would be such a shame considering I’ve been saving myself for old age for a long time now. That’s me, always standing next to death, but he never reaches out for me. I’m sure you know a lot about that, don’t you?”

76 looked down again, this time not willing to meet the man’s eyes. Even though his were shielded, he still felt wrong even looking at him.

“Oh goodness, how rude of me.” There was a clack of ceramic and the steady noise of something being poured before a mug was slid onto the counter where he looked. “Tea?”

He looked up at the other man, who stared back at him with a wide grin. After giving a blink that the other couldn’t see, he shook his head and held his hand up.

“Then hold onto it, if you don’t want to take off your mask to drink,” he said. “It’ll warm your hands. You must be freezing after a night on the streets of LA. It’s a cold world in this city, you know.”

After a moment, he finally reached out and took the cup between his gloved hands, delicately tracing the white ceramic. So simple, yet so familiar. 76 nodded his thanks.

“There we are. Now we can really talk. Or, at the least, share the company,” the man said, leaning against the island on the other side. He took a sip of his own drink before humming in realization. Laughing slightly, he set down his mug. “It seems my rudeness knows no bounds. My name is Miguel Reyes. Of course, if it pleases you to ever speak to me, you may call me Miguel.”

The name stung, causing his left hand to grip tighter against the handle while the right went slack against the curve of the mug.

Still, he gave another nod of understanding.

Miguel only smiled, stepping away from the island and motioning for him to follow.

“Come with me. Allow me to give you the tour.”

Hesitantly, he went after him.

“This is the living room,” he said absently, pointing to a room that sported a small couch and musty rug. Seated atop the rug was a TV, and the couch had the company of a small end table. “Of course, I don’t use it for much more than television. No one’s come by to visit in a while, you know. Aye, but that is how it is.”

76 looked back at the couch, noting that it was new. At least, he hadn’t seen it before. On top of the end table was a remote, and a lamp that didn’t seem to match the rest of the room. It’s reddish color really stood out against the yellow wallpaper, and he couldn’t help but think it was supposed to be in another room.

“Anyway, we move on,” Miguel said.

And so they did. They didn’t stop at the next room. It wasn’t hard to tell what this room was from the lines marking the doorway, each mark depicting various heights going to about four feet, to the name “GABRIEL” scrawled over the wood in bright red paint. Well, what was once bright red. Now it had faded into the white as a soft pink in most parts, but it was also still a nice red and even a yellowish white in others.

He resisted the urge to reach out for the door, following Miguel to the next room. Once the light was turned on, it revealed beige walls  and a thick brown carpet, separating it from the rest of the house. On the desk in the corner was a computer that didn’t look like it had been touched in a decade and a small picture turned onto its frame, leg sticking uselessly into the air.

“This is my office,” Miguel said. “I used to work in accounting. Well, after the army. I’m retired now from both of them, actually.” He turned to 76, “So, what branch were you? Navy?”

76 stood in what must have looked like surprise because Miguel began a harmonious laugh.

“I knew it. It’s the way you stand, you know. Not to mention the way you hold your gun in all of those news reports. Of course, that’s something you learn no matter the branch. Still, the way you move is different.” He shifted back to lean against the doorway. “My son was thinking navy for a while but I told him, ‘No no, if you’re going into the military, then I want you in the army.’” He began laughing again at some distant memory. “Of course, I’m not knocking your loyalties. You just have to admit that if you want your child in anything, it’s going to be army or airforce. Tch, I would have thrown out national guard, but I knew he wasn’t signing up for school or because he even wanted the fight.” He looked down to the ground. “He always wanted his way out to see the world.”

The silence in the air was suddenly thick. Part of 76 wanted to break it, if only to reach out to the man and give his condolences, but another part knew that would only be worse. So, instead, he settled for bowing his head.

The movement was enough to jolt Miguel from his thoughts as he gave a small, nervous laugh.

“Don’t worry about that though. It’s just the thought of an old man. Heh, three more years and I’ll be the seventy-six around here, eh?” 

He was given a slap on the arm before Miguel shut off the office light and moved down the hall.

As he followed him to the next area of the house, 76 couldn’t help but look back at the dark doorway and think about that face-down picture.

“This is the entry way,” he said. “You know, if you’d like to come through the front door next time you visit. I thought the house was a little backwards at first with the rooms near the front and the kitchen in the back, but it’s grown on me.

76 listened as his gaze was drawn up to a cluster on the wall of old photos, each with a frame that mismatched the ones around it. Each photo was different, sporting new places and activities, but it wasn’t hard to spot a recurring face in most of them.

“That’s him, you know,” Miguel said from beside him.

76 looked down as an ancient hand reached out and pointed to one of the pictures. This one was of a young boy. He wearing something like a curtain around his waist, sporting a shaved head and a missing tooth as he was frozen mid-dance beside a younger version of Miguel. They both gave energetic smiles that weren’t directed at the photographer, Miguel carefully holding a worn violin.

“My son, Gabriel. He loved music so much,” Miguel said, pulling his hand away. “There aren’t a lot of pictures with the two of us together. There’s another one up there my wife took when he was just a baby, see?” he pointed to another photo.

He was looking at the camera this time, a large infant curled into his arms.

Bringing his arm away again, he said, “She was a beautiful woman. Probably the only person I would have literally fought a war for. Silvia was my angel.” Miguel took in a shaky breath. “I wish there were more pictures of her up here,” he almost whispered. “She died when he was three. That was when I left the military with an honorable discharge. The last thing I wanted was for him to grow up alone.” He gave a low sigh. “I never had any family up here. I used the army to gain citizenship and stuck with it after my first year of service. If I’d only known she’d gotten sick, I would have come home sooner.”

76’s brow strained around the top of his visor, and he looked back up to find the picture he knew was up there. Once he found it, he trained his eyes on the woman depicted there, loose curls floating about her chin as she laughed at something long forgotten.

He tilted his head at the photo before looking back to Miguel. His hand reached up of its own accord, flinching away from the other man’s upper arm before finally coming to rest there as he stared back up at the pictures.

“He couldn’t remember her, but he loved hearing stories. I always thought he took so much after her. I remarried when he was eight. That’s my second wife, Alica,” he pointed to another picture of a woman with straighter hair that was pulled back with an orange headband, holding the same little boy from the other photos in her lap. They were both smiling, the little boy with chocolate ice cream coating his lips. “She knew I couldn’t give my everything to her. I could never do that after Silvia, but she knew that our relationship was enough for both of us. We were happy. Not to mention, that was the first time Gabriel ever had a real mother figure. I thought it would be good for him.” He took a deep breath and held it. “Death took her too, you know. It was a car crash.”

76 flinched.

“I should have been with her,” Miguel continued, “I was supposed to go to the store with her, but I forgot to pick Gabriel up from soccer practice. I was so forgetful.” He looked down and gave a humorless laugh. “We came back from soccer practice to hear that she died on the way to the emergency room.”

His hand suddenly burned on Miguel’s back, as if he could feel all of the heat of his words through that one spot alone. 

“I lost the love of my life, my second wife and best friend, and then Death had to come for my son as well.” He stared up at the pictures as if they could reach out and speak to him. “It’s a terrible thing, having someone ripped away from you. Still, it’s another thing altogether when it’s your child.” He began shaking slightly where he stood, posture worsening as he seemed to collapse on himself. “No parent should have to bury their child. Heh, I guess that isn’t right. They couldn’t have the decency to find the body.”

That almost made 76 outwardly cringe. He settled for staring at the ground as his hand moved farther up Miguel’s back.

“I served one year for my citizenship, and continued fighting for a country I could live in with my family. Then that country- that world- did this. My son did the same. He fought for a world he could live in peacefully. Now that world is coming back to us and he won’t even live to see it.” He turned up to look at 76. “What kind of sick world is that?”

The way his face had twisted was one with wide, soulful eyes and a snarl that was almost primal. His thick beard looked even straggler and the wrinkles in his face grew more pronounced.

At that moment, 76 wondered if it would help to let him know that was a world his son didn’t want any more. Luckily, he opted for looking down at the ground as another attempt at offered sympathy.

Miguel froze at that, cheating his body outward so that 76’s hand was left in the middle of the air.

“I- I’m sorry,” he said, making 76 lookup to see a pained grin. It was the kind of smile where the eyes didn’t quite match the bottom half of the face, the corners of his lips trembling. “Look at me, preaching to a stranger. I’m sure you know some loss of your own, don’t you?”

Seeing that an answer was expected, 76 nodded and looked down again.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Of course, I’d suspect you don’t have much left either. What other kind of man could run around the world? None, except for the one who doesn’t have anything to lose.” He gave a stiff chuckle. “I might have done it myself, you know. Well if I could manage faster than three miles an hour without popping my hip out.”

76 nodded once more, begrudgingly smiling behind his mask, though he knew the other man couldn’t see.

“Maybe you should leave,” he said with a sigh. “That is, unless you’d  _ like  _ to be exposed to more useless rambling.”

There was a moment where 76 looked into the mug still in his hand. It wasn’t quite cold, but it was cooling and obviously untouched. He took it into both hands, the tip of his gloved hand swirling over the rim once before he looked to Miguel and pushed the cup towards him.

The other let out another long sigh. “I see,” he said, taking the cup. “I understand. Well, I hope to see you later, 76. Would you like me to walk you to the back door?”

He shook his head, deciding coming into the house at all was a bad idea.

“Alright,” he turned and took a few steps toward the door, opening it and turning back to 76. “Have a good night, Mr. 76.”

He nodded for the last time before stepping into the front doorway and onto the small red porch outside. With one final thought, he turned again to Miguel.

“I’m sorry about Gabriel,” he said, making sure to drop his already ruined voice to a deeper level.

It seemed the slight attempt at a disguise worked as Miguel didn’t seem to take note. Instead, he only managed the smallest of smiles, taking in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope you get whatever you’re looking for out there, 76.”

Then the door was closed and 76 felt even more alone than he had at the beginning of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Miguel Reyes is an OC I think about a lot. Hopefully, the next fic I write with him will be a bit on the lighter side.


End file.
